Sunday, 19 February, 2023
So sometimes I wonder if it was me that precipitated the Queen dying. No, not really. Sometimes, though. On 6 September I sent this message to my friends, Chris and Melodie:
The 8th of September there were rumours, then an announcement that the Queen wasn’t doing well and her family had been called. That day I had a gathering to attend and met my friend, Zofia, for lunch and then to the gathering. At 18:30 someone there announced, ‘The Queen has just died.’ The gathering continued, some of us talking about it. ‘I feel devastated,’ one friend confessed.
The truth is my message on the 6th wasn’t random, nor had I had a true premonition. I’d seen a photo on BBC of the Queen meeting Liz Truss at Balmoral. It was significant this wasn’t at the Palace – I think this was a first – but even more significant was how she looked. She was shrunken and frail. ‘Look how frail she looks,’ I exclaimed, but no one really commented. And that’s why there really was nothing ominous about my message.
I was six years old when the coronation took place. My memory was that we had bought a television – our first – for that occasion. My mother was an anti-royalist and told me some years ago that this would never have been the case. I remember watching the coronation on the small nine-inch screen that sat by the fire in my grandmother’s home. Maybe that too is a false memory.
Mum must not have passed her anti-royalist feelings on to me, since I’ve always rather liked the royal stuff. I was interested in what they did, enjoyed seeing the children grow up and I was touched by the stories of how the Queen and Prince Philip met and married. When the Queen died, it was like a large part of my life died too – something had gone, things would never be the same, what would come next. Would Charles become king? How did he feel about that? Would people continue to mock and shun him? What did that mean for Britain? For Canada and the rest of the Commonwealth countries?
I remember the coronation parties – I think at the Aberdeen pub on Roman Road near our house. There were also street parties. The very next day, 3 June, she drove through our area and I remember seeing her waving from her car on that day. It was near Victoria Park and I was there with my flag. This is not a false memory.
Anti-royalist or not, my mum obviously wanted us well turned out for all the momentous occasions and I’m glad that I have some photos anyway. There’s another photo somewhere – my favourite from the day. I wonder where it went.
It hadn’t been too long before that I’d been at the 70 Year Platinum Jubilee parties. Krish, like mum, has nothing good to say about the monarchy so I always did these things alone. I wandered with Melodie through the streets looking for parties and headed for Wilton Way, where I knew there was a party. I also remember that there were far fewer parties than there had been at the Golden Jubilee and wondered where everyone was. Was it the pandemic? Were people partied out? Had the Queen lost popularity? What had changed?
At Wilton Way it was vastly different than the last time too. People were meeting in families, not as neighbours. The community spirit seemed lost. There were no shared food tables but some venues set up with things you could buy to eat. It was very busy though. Melodie and I found a seat at a picnic table and had a snack, but we didn’t stay very long. The pandemic had changed everything and I felt sad about that. On my way home I looked for random street parties but saw none. Such a very big difference than 2002, my first year back in London. I’m good with change, excited even. Change is inevitable and brings the bad and the good along with it. This one I wasn’t so keen on.
But anyway, she’d reached the 70th Jubilee year, something she’d apparently dearly wished to see, since it made her the longest reigning monarch. And then she died.
It was a strange time in the UK. Things went on as usual but on television, there was little else than what had just happened on this small island. We watched ‘The Queue’ as people queued and then paraded past the coffin lying in Westminster Hall. On the 11th we went to see the local proclamation at Hackney Town Hall, on the 19th we watched the funerals, both of them. I was so impressed with the precision of everything. And yes, we. Even Krish couldn’t resist the history and the ceremony. (The proclamation video is below – can you spot the error by the Speaker?) And now we had King Charles III and I’m left wondering if I will ever be able to say that and not find it completely alien, so I just say Charles. No argument with the man. I’d seen him in action a couple of times and was wholly impressed with his presence, his ability to engage the public. Underrated, I thought. God Save the King, they sing and I think, what?
At first I thought I’d stay away from central London. Every day we watched the funeral preparations and the street scenes. There were thousands there every day, and more arriving all the time. Who’d want to willingly be there? Then one day I decided that we should go. I had two goals – to see the floral displays in Green Park and to check out the crowds outside the Palace.
It’s easy to get to Green Park from Hackney – only one bus, the 38. It’s a longish journey but there’s so much to see along the way. We got off at Fortnum and Mason and walked through, and out the side entrance to stroll through Mayfair, checking out all the posh shops and places to eat. We walked past Clarence House and on to Green Park.
There were some flowers surrounding the trees at the edge of the Park, bordering a path that led to the Palace. There were wooden hoardings set up and I didn’t know if they were there for the occasion or there had been construction but the crowd was heading along the path anyway. I decided that I would walk that path too, look at the palace and come back to Green Path. Unfortunately, I hadn’t counted on a strict one-way system that had been set up. There was no way to get back into the path. You had to get to Pall Mall and then head along the road for some distance before the allowed crossing. From there you could walk along to Buckingham Palace and back to the park. The crowds were thick and steady and the atmosphere was a curious mixture of sombre and celebratory. It was a long way for me to walk and we decided against it.
Instead I stopped and took photos of the crowd from a distance, gave up the idea of being anywhere near the Palace. Foiled in each instance! We walked along the way we were allowed to go, watching people being stopped from crossing where they wanted to and routed properly. I was tired from walking and found a tent set up with hot drinks and biscuits and some chairs. What a fabulous idea. No charge, I was told. At least it wasn’t hot.
We walked towards Trafalgar Square, stopping to look at the Mall from Admiralty Arch. Trafalgar Square was fenced off and looked abandoned. Police officers patrolled here and there, the flags were at half mast.
Then came the funeral. We watched from our dwindling home. A very different TV than that one I’d watched the coronation on.
What a time to be in London. (It wasn’t my fault. Was it?)
Liberty, a London luxury, is a sharp contrast to the often shabby back streets of Soho. But it also backs onto Carnaby Street and, along with the rest of the world, in 1960s London I loved any excuse to at least window shop there. Carnaby Street isn’t the untidy jumble of independent shops it used to be. Now it’s full of midrange franchises with only a touch of the bohemian and bizarre. It is a passage that feels transitional, merging beatnik Soho gently into Regent Street splendour.
